


a timeline of your tender heart

by verboseDescription



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Bisexual Georgie Barker, Bisexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Coming Out, F/M, Judaism, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Past JonGeorgie, jon's no good very bad murder charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verboseDescription/pseuds/verboseDescription
Summary: Years ago, Jon had met Georgie scaling an Oxford building, completely unafraid of the ground beneath her.Now, Georgie sees the blood on Jon's shaking hands and invites him inside without hesitation.A story about love, and the way it never leaves you.
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 82
Kudos: 184
Collections: bi jon sims celebration





	1. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schedule for this month:  
> meet an old friend & try to save them  
> lie to the police  
> think about the past

When Georgie opens the door, the first thing she notices is that Jon has blood on his hands. Then she notices the scars, his shaking hands, the soft but unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes, and the desperation in his eyes.

“I—” Jon begins. His voice cracks. “Georgie, I need help.”

“Okay,” Georgie says, keeping her own words as steady as possible. She opens the door wider and waits for him to step inside. He walks in silence, eyes wide but unaware. Georgie presses down on his shoulder to remind him to sit. He collapses onto her couch. Then she wets a paper towel and cleans the blood off his hands. She pauses for a moment, then uses the same towel to wipe off another spot on his cane.

It’s not a lot, honestly. Just a few red smudges here and there. Just enough that he’d probably just scratched himself, or touched something a bit less-alive then it should have been. Georgie very pointedly refuses to think about the context that would lead to the later, or the unbroken skin on his palms.

“It was my job,” Jon says suddenly, as if he’s only just remembered his excuse. “I—there was a bit of a disagreement at work. I can’t—I can’t go back.”

“You can’t go back to work?” Georgie frowns. “Or you can’t go back home?”

Jon looks away.

“I…” he begins. “I mean, I know this is a lot to ask, especially after all this time but—”

“Alright,” Georgie interrupts.

“Excuse me?” Jon asks, blinking himself back to reality. “Georgie are you—”

“Yeah,” she says. “Stay with me. I mean, I’ve still got that spare room. The Admiral’s kind of claimed it as his bed, but I’m sure he won’t mind sharing.”

Jon’s shoulders shake with relief.

“Thank you, Georgie,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

When the letter arrives the next day, Georgie looks back on everything that’s led her to this point in life, and thinks, _yeah, sounds about right._

There’s no return address. No postmark, either. Not even a name. The only thing written on it is the words, ”For Jon,” written in a disgustingly fanciful cursive script.

Considering that Georgie’s first conversation with Jonathan Sims had begun with her almost a full meter in the air, there’s a part of her that thinks something like this was almost unavoidable. Normalcy just wasn’t in the cards for them.

Admittedly, their first meeting wasn’t as strange as she was making it sound. It’d be more accurate to say that Georgie had been clutching onto the wall of the building she’d been trying to climb and Jon had been walking by, looking forward to buying his textbooks for the new semester. The two of them became friends after Jon saw her out of the corner of his eye and immediately swiveled around to shout, “What on _earth_ are you _doing?”_

In response, Georgie maneuvered herself to a windowsill and sat down. 

“There was a brick sticking out,” Georgie explained, kicking the wall behind her. “I wanted to see how far I could go.”

“This is dangerous,” Jon said. He looked up at her, then quickly glanced away, as if imagining himself in her position was enough to make him sick. After a moment, he looked up again. “You’re not afraid?”

Georgie shrugged.

“I’m not really scared of anything,” she said.

“Well, you’re certainly not scared of heights, I’ll give you that,” Jon muttered. He slid off his backpack and sat down on top of it. “This seems like something you shouldn’t manage alone. I’m going to wait here until you’re back on the ground.”

“Are you sure?” Georgie asked. “I mean, it might take a while. I’m planning on aiming for the roof.”

Jon looked at the wall dubiously. Fair enough. There’d been a few loose bricks on her way to the window, but it was still a relatively intact building, which meant she wouldn’t have much luck getting any higher. This was Oxford, after all. Decaying academic institute wasn’t really the look they were going for.

“Climbing _up_ something and climbing down it are two very different skills,” Jon said. “If you slip now, it could come with quite a few consequences. I’d rather you not have to deal with that alone.”

“You don’t even know me,” Georgie said.

“Do I have to?” Jon asked. “You’re—well, I’m _assuming_ you’re a student. Can’t I care about my fellow academics?”

Georgie laughed. It was the first time in months she’d felt the need to.

 _“Fellow academics,”_ she repeated. “G-d, you’re posh.” Jon wrinkled his nose. “What’s your name?”

Jon stood up.

“Jonathan Sims,” he declared, automatically reaching his hand out before grabbing it back. Georgie snorted again. She slowly lowered herself from the window and onto a brick. Once her foot touched the brick, Georgie swung around, then continued on to climb toward the ground.

She landed with a small jump, then turned to Jon and stuck out a hand.

“Georgie,” she said. “Thanks for caring.”

Jon took her hand with the kind of wariness Georgie’s mum once used to approach a feral cat.

“Thank you for letting me,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Georgie.”

Inside the letter is a story. 

A statement, or whatever. Something about a mannequin. Even if there hadn’t been a header very clearly reading “Property of the Magnus Institute,” the intention behind it is fairly obvious.

Jon insists he would never give out her address without her permission, especially not to his boss. Georgie reminds him that he hasn’t even really had a chance to. 

That’s the part about it she hates the most, honestly. If there’d been some actual time that had passed, she might have assumed that someone had let her address slip, or that they had gotten her information because Jon had mentioned being close, once, and assumed they might as well send a message to their only lead, but things like that couldn’t happen overnight. The only way someone would have known Jon was in Georgie’s flat was if they actually saw him enter and Georgie… she doesn’t like the implications that brings. Having a stalker is never a good thing, but having one obsessed with making sure you do your work is just _weird._

Jon spends the next four days looking into the statement, insisting that he has no other choice. It’s his job. This is what he was always meant to be doing.

Maybe she’s not the right person to judge the intensity of an emotion, but something about it feels painful, like going on a run with a broken leg, or working on a term paper with a fever. He’s not doing it because he loves it. He’s doing it because he’s desperate, and because it’s all his brain will let him think about as he sits and sweats this out. In all four days, Georgie never sees him take a break. She knows he had to have slept at some point, because he’s still somewhat functional, but every time she sees him, he’s glued to her computer, looking into something about a death in some clothing store.

She used to drag him into bed when he got like this. Close the screen of his computer, or pull his chair away from the desk. Sometimes he’d argue, but other times, he’d just huff and climb into bed, grateful for an excuse to turn off his brain. The next morning, she’d wake up to him making them breakfast. He’d give her a sheepish smile and apologize for overreacting, and because Georgie didn’t know how to convince him she loved every part of him, she would shrug and say nothing.

This time, he tries to reassure her. He says it’s not drugs, but that doesn’t make the way he begs her for a tape recorder any better. He tells her he needs to record what he’s found. When she asks why, he just repeats himself, looking so much like the haunted academic in one of the horror stories they used to make fun of.

“It… it needs to be recorded, Georgie,” Jon says. “That’s all. Then it’s done.”

Georgie sighs.

“Fine,” she says. “But you’ve got to deal with whatever this is.”

She knows him well enough to know that things will only spiral out from here. That his obsessions never faded out so easily. That whatever this is, it doesn’t deserve his free time, if it’s left him homeless and hurting, and it’s better to end it now, before things get worse. That if she doesn’t say something now, it will get worse.

“I will,” Jon says. “I—I promise.” 

The next morning, he makes her breakfast.

It’s a bit of a search, to find clothes for Jon to wear. Georgie has plenty of _What The Ghost?_ merch lying around her flat, but there was nothing that offended Jon more than the thought of wearing joggers, and there were only so many shirts she could afford to give him. Not that he really wanted to be wearing some variation of the same outfit for weeks, anyway, but that means Georgie needs to lend him some of her actual clothes. 

Everything she sees him in now is a memory. It’s not just that he’s walking around her flat, wearing her hoodie with tights, like he did when they were dating. It’s not just that he’s sleeping in her shirt, like they were having some impromptu sleepover instead of being barricaded in the same flat together. It’s the reminder that a part of him had never left her. That shirt she’d shoved in the back of her closet because it wasn’t her style, the bi pride socks that didn’t quite fit, the chapstick that had, unfortunately, completely dried out because it’d been trapped in a pair of unused trousers for years—all of that had belonged to Jon. It was only her’s because he had agreed to share it with her.

When she wakes up and sees Jon in a pink blouse, she immediately places it as the one he’d worn on their first date. When she saw him then, she had spun him into her arms and called him beautiful, and he had looked at her like it was the first compliment he’d ever received.

For a moment, she stares at him, watching as he makes them both scrambled eggs, humming along to some song he’s playing on her phone, and she considers trying it again. Imagines taking him by the hand and leading him into her arms and thanking him for making her breakfast. 

Georgie snorts. 

Jon turns off the stovetop and raises an eyebrow her direction.

“Something funny?” he asks.

“You’re a housewife,” Georgie tells him. Jon pulls a face.

“I’m just trying to express my _gratitude_ at being allowed to stay on such short notice,” he insists, dividing the eggs between two large plates. “If you’d rather I _not—”_

Georgie swipes her plate before he can finish his sentence.

“Thank you for the food,” she says sweetly. He baps her on the head with the handle of her spatula.

“With everything I’m bringing to your door, I suppose I should make sure you at _least_ have a healthy breakfast,” Jon grumbles. There’s guilt in his voice. It’s not unusual. Jon’s already told her, several times, that he feels bad for springing himself on her like this, but, normally, he just coped with that by cleaning her flat. There’s an extra layer to this guilt. A new set of neuroses that were making Jon’s hands shake, as he handed her a fork.

“You’re going to record another statement, aren’t you?” Georgie asks suddenly. Jon flinches and looks away. Instead of replying, he puts her now empty pan in the sink and turns on the water. “Look, I’m not mad, I just want to know why. I mean, after the first one, you were acting like—well, you know how you were acting. And you want to do that _again?”_

Jon turns to her, but doesn’t look her in the eyes.

“I don’t,” he admits, voice near a whisper. “I just don’t think I can stop.”

Georgie opens her mouth, then bites it closed.

One time, in uni, Georgie had watched Jon tore his flat up looking for a spider they both knew wasn’t there. She had stood behind him as he pulled the sheets off his bed, tried reasoning with him as he pushed his bed frame away from the wall. He had turned to her, eyes red and desperate, and had spoken those same words to her in a desperate plea.

He’d ended up spending the night at her place. She, at least, was free of spiders.

“Tell me what you need me to do,” Georgie says now. Jon fiddles with his shirt.

“Can we… could we watch a movie together?” he asks.

“Sure,” Georgie says. She had shopping to do, and research for her next episode. A sponsor to email about the ad copy they’d given her. Nothing more important than the person standing in front of her. “Let’s make it a marathon.”

Back in university, Georgie and Jon used to watch movies together all the time. These date nights usually consisted of the two of them watching and judging horror movies based on both how realistic the hauntings were, and how stupid the protagonists were being about it. It was, Georgie was told, the least romantic thing a girl could do with her boyfriend. 

She never stopped finding it strange how many people felt the need to tell her that she was doing the whole “being a girlfriend” thing wrong. She knew. That’s why she was dating Jon. He was, allegedly, just as bad at being a boyfriend. Not that she really cared what anyone else thought, of course—One of the perks of having your emotions sucked out of you by a corpse. Georgie was having fun. So was Jon. That was all that mattered. They had never really been interested in only enjoying themselves in some kind of pre-approved scenario. Sex wasn’t going to feel romantic, not when both of them considered that kind of touch more of a burden than a desire, and Georgie was just as likely as she was to give flowers as she was to receive them.

Things are a bit different this time, obviously. They’re not dating, and this isn’t her shitty old flat that she shared with three other people, but it is their home, and it still feels familiar. Well, it’s _her_ home _,_ but they had always planned on moving in with each other at some point and, really, wasn’t that what this was?

The Admiral curls himself up on Jon’s lap as Georgie microwaves them some popcorn and measures it out between two bowls, just like she always does. She takes a sprite for herself and gets Jon a cup of water. He murmurs his thanks, so distracted by petting the Admiral that he almost drops it. Georgie just snorts and presses play. Immediately, Jon’s launching into a tirade about the opening scene.

“It’s not atmospheric, it’s just cliche,” he says, gesturing so wildly the Admiral has already climbed out of his lap and into the safety of Georgie’s arms.

“Music’s a bit underwhelming, too,” Georgie agrees, scratching the Admiral under the neck.

“They’re expecting the scene to do all the work for them,” Jon scoffs. “It doesn’t.”

Someone dies on screen. Jon flinches.

“It’s okay,” Georgie says. She puts a hand on his arm. “They’re safe now.”

Jon laughs.

“Oh, to be the first one to die in a horror movie,” he says, lifting his water in a toast. “Safe from the overused tropes that follow.”

Georgie raises her own drink in solidarity.

“Here, here,” she says.

Despite his constant insistence regarding his poor personality, it had only taken Georgie about a week of knowing Jon for her to start fantasizing about carrying him in her arms. It had happened suddenly and without warning. One day, he invited her to explore what had turned out not to be a haunted building. She had helped him up over the fence and as their hands touched, Georgie was filled with the sudden desire to sweep him off his feet.

 _Well,_ she had thought. _I guess I like guys now._

If anything could surprise her, this would have. But it was hard to bring back an emotion that had left her so cruelly. Admittedly, though, the shock had come less from her potential attraction to men than the idea that she could like _anyone_ after what she had gone through. No matter how much she laughed or cried or even just got frustrated because she’d gotten a bad grade on a test, Georgie had never expected the ice in her heart to thaw. She may have found her way out of bed, but that didn’t mean she was a person, and she refused to lie to Jon by pretending otherwise. It was nice to have a friend who didn't know her as the last living corpse of Balliol. Her university had swept the events of that night so far under the rug that even students on the other Oxford campuses didn't know what she was. It was a blessing. She didn’t want to ruin it, which meant she absolutely could not mention her crush. 

Georgie had spent a year in constant discomfort as she regained her emotions. Whatever pain she felt from the inevitable wall that would grow between them as time moved on would be nothing compared to that. One way or another, Jon would learn that she wasn’t worth his time. He would learn to let her go.

All time happened in an instant, after all. No beginning would be longer than its end.

By the end of February, they’ve lived together long enough to rebuild a routine. Jon stays in their flat all day, biting his nails short and flinching at the smallest sounds, and Georgie tries to find some way to get him out of his head. Sometimes she succeeds. Sometimes, she comes home and he’s looking up stuff about hostile architecture and the flinches get louder.

She had tried taking him out, once or twice, but he had spent the entire time looking over his shoulder, and Georgie knew better than to fight a lost cause. Instead, she buys them takeout and they talk about podcasts and the history of radio, and Georgie pretends all is right with the world, even when she sees him recording again and spends his day prowling around her flat like a trapped animal. 

Despite everything, Georgie likes to think he’s doing better now. Scars aside, of course—Jon had mentioned, vaguely, that the circles scattered throughout his face and arms had come from worms, though hadn’t explained the _how_ or the _why_ which Georgie took as reason enough not to ask for an elaboration. Someone had hurt him, and if Jon needed her help dealing with that, he’d tell her when he was ready. But all the pain he’d endured in their time apart hadn’t stopped him from growing. In university, it had taken Jon three tries to admit to Georgie thought he might like guys, but just the other day, he’d spent the afternoon swiping through her phone, judging the guys she matched with on Tinder by how likely they were to be worth anything more than a night of free food.

“This one’s no good for you,” Jon informed her. “Myself, on the other hand…”

“Wait, what?” Georgie laughed. She tried to grab her phone back, but Jon quickly turned away and swiped to the next person. “Jon! Come on!”

“It’s for the best,” Jon told her, a bit too seriously. He dropped her phone in her hand. “I would have only broken his heart.”

“I guess we’re both too cool for dating apps,” Georgie sighed, already swiping through another profile. 

Of course, optimism like that gets a bit harder when the police stop by.

Jon’s still asleep when it happens. Georgie’s just about to record an episode until she hears a knock on the door. She frowns, takes off her headphones, then walks to open it. 

“Georgina Barker?” the cop asks.

“Georgie,” Georgie says.

“We’re looking for Jonathan Sims,” he continues, offering no sign he’s heard her response. 

“Why?”

“It’s an open case. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. The two of you were close in university, weren’t you? Has he contacted you at all?”

“No,” Georgie says. She looks the policeman straight in the eyes. “He hasn’t called me in years.”

The cop frowns. He stares at her for a moment, like he’s expecting her to say more, but Georgie just keeps her eyes level and face blank. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks. 

“No,” the officer says. “Thank you for your time.”

Georgie closes the door and stares at the wood in front of her. After a few seconds of her wondering how her life had turned out like this, she hears the Admiral’s collar jingle. Georgie turns around. The Admiral stares up at her.

“Don’t give me that look,” she says. “That was barely even a lie.”

The Admiral doesn’t respond. Georgie sighs.

If someone had asked her what the hell she was doing, Georgie would have said this: Jonathan Sims was the first person to make her feel human. There were times when Georgie didn’t have the energy to stand, and she would lay down on the floor and remember how close she had been to having nothing else. But Jon had come to her flat and sat beside her. He’d put on music and act like they were having an actual conversation between _people_ and refused to let her silence ruin the space between them. Eventually, Georgie would remember her limbs. She would finish mourning the girl she had been and think, _my heart is beating, my chest is rising. There is air flowing through my lungs and someone loves me. The moment I die will not be this one._

And then she would get up off the floor and apologize for the fuss and Jon would say “Oh, not at all” and ask her to look over an essay he was writing for class.

The thing is, she had always known he was just like her. Not just because she was there when he figured out he was bi, or when he tried on his first dress. When he had told her he wasn’t interested in sex, she had nodded as she said she hadn’t felt that particular desire in a while, and wasn’t in a hurry to get it back. And it wasn’t about that, either.

When Georgie thinks of the Jon she knew in uni, she thinks about sitting on a bench in the cold weather, watching him smoke as she told what she hoped was a funny story about some jerk in one of her classes. She’s not sure how it came up. She had mentioned _Frankenstein,_ or something like it—one of the classics, you know?—and Jon had responded by exhaling smoke and saying, “There’s something out there.”

Not “I believe in ghosts.” Not “There are things in this world that are hard to explain.” Just “There’s something out there.” As if it was an inarguable fact.

“Yeah?” Georgie asked. Jon put out his cigarette.

He had told her, then, about the importance of an oral history. That books didn’t always last between travels, but memories did. Just because there were no ghosts in textbooks didn’t mean they had never been. It just meant that science was unconcerned with the way a family could be haunted. Jon’s grandfather had grown up on the road. Not unusual, for Rrom living in that time, but it had let him see the world in a way that others would not. He didn’t write down what he saw. Why would he? The only people worth telling had seen it alongside him. He had died before Jon was born, but his stories still lived in his grandmother and sometimes, she would even share them. The world was strange. There were stories that stayed hidden simply because they had no other way to be.

Then Jon paused, and looked towards Georgie, almost apologetic.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s a bit of-topic, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright,” Georgie said, unsure of what to do with the burst of love suddenly flowing through her. “I like hearing you speak.”

They had fit together in some unexplainable way Georgie was sure she had moved beyond. She wasn’t the girl who apologized for how little she could give, and he wasn’t the person who apologized for how much he was. But no matter how much the years had changed them, he would still always be the person who had brought a bit of magic into her life. Whatever the police wanted him for, it wasn’t his fault. Whether or not _they_ thought he was a victim or not, Georgie knew Jon’s only crime was his insistence on bottling up his problems, and if that was all it was, she wasn’t going to be the one to make Jon retraumatize himself by giving a statement to the police. It’s not like they were going to actually fix the problem, with or without his help. They never had before.

Also, she wasn’t going to talk to the cops about her bisexual, nonbinary, neurodivergent, brown Jewish ex-boyfriend. That was just common sense.

The Admiral meows again. Georgie sighs and flops on the floor. She winces as the Admiral steps onto her chest, but doesn’t move.

It doesn’t feel like how it used to.

Before, it had felt necessary. Like a ghost stuck reliving the moments of their life, the only way she could move on was if she finally accepted what happened next. But how could she, when she’d been saved from a fate that had taken someone so much better than her? So much smarter, so much braver? The only reason she was still alive was pure luck, but even that hadn’t been enough to save everything.

Before, Georgie would sit on the floor and think about the impossible chasm between who she was then and the girl she had been before. Where had her anxiety gone? The excitement in her voice that had placed her as so obviously Scouse? The shame at the thought of acknowledging that she, an Oxford student, was just a girl from Liverpool? The way she had wrinkled her nose at Alex’s stories, her disgust was so impossibly large she could have never imagined swallowing it down, no matter how much her friend teased? The silent envy she had felt at seeing her get into trouble Georgie could only dream of? All of that had disappeared with Alex. It was dead, and so was she. Attempting any type of revival would just widen the gap.

Now, though, with over a decade between them, the woman she had been in university was almost just as unfamiliar as the girl before, and Georgie could find no tragedy in that. Sometimes, time did change you, as fleeting and ethereal as it could be. And right now, the only thing going through her mind was how glad she was Jon had cleaned the floor. Also, there’s a weird splotch on the ceiling that kind of looks like a star. Huh.

A door creaks open.

“Georgie?” Jon calls. “Are you—oh. Oh, are you—is this—did I—?”

“Oh, hey,” Georgie says. “Morning.” She pats his feet. “It’s fine. The Admiral’s just taking a nap.”

“On your stomach?” Jon asks, not bothering to disguise the judgment in his voice. Georgie pats the ground beside her. Jon sighs and sits down.

“I was just thinking about uni,” she says. “I don’t think I would have gotten better if it wasn’t for you.”

Georgie feels Jon stiffen beside her.

“You would have been fine without me,” he says. Georgie offers an awkward shrug in response. It ends up looking more like a wiggle.

“Maybe,” she says. “But you were the first person I called my boyfriend. I think that’s always going to count for something.”

Jon leans over her to pick the Admiral up and cradles him in his arms.

“Get off the floor, Georgie,” he tells her, voice filled with the same soft kindness it always was when he spoke those words. “I’ll make us lunch.”

Georgie hums, but doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” she says, still staring at her ceiling. “Lunch sounds nice.”


	2. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The schedule for this month:  
> celebrate Purim with Jon  
> talk to Melanie  
> finish editing another podcast episode  
> try to ignore the music

March begins with a promise. Jon tells Georgie he’s not going to record anything, even if it’s not a statement, and asks for a few sheets of paper to jot down some thoughts instead.

It’s important he get out of the habit of reaching for a tape, Jon says. If he wants to start anywhere, he has to start with that. It’s more than Georgie was expecting. She buys him a notebook and congratulates him on looking after his health.

When Purim comes next weekend, Jon’s a bit hesitant to celebrate, but Georgie insists anyway. She thinks he deserves a bit of holiday spirit after going through… well, whatever was going on with him. He was still being a bit cagey about that. Besides, she’s feeling a bit nostalgic. Growing up, Purim had always been one of her favorite holidays. As a holiday partially focused on dressing up, it’d been a great excuse to explore her presentation. Plus, what kid didn’t love an excuse to yell?

Well… Jon, generally. 

He’d told her a while back that loud noises had always made him cringe, especially after—after something. The important thing Georgie had taken away from this was that his grandmother had noticed his discomfort and hadn’t forced him to celebrate. By the time Jon was able to brave the barrage of noise-makers and screaming children, he’d felt too old to join in on the celebration. The time they’d celebrated it in uni with the school’s Hillel club had been the first time he’d ever had a Purim party. He’d been too self-conscious to wear a dress, but his Queen Esther costume had looked lovely, and Georgie had loved watching his face light up every time someone told him so. Georgie’s friends Leo and Alma had come, too, even though neither were Jewish. Georgie had met Leo a bit after Jon, when they’d taken a class together. Georgie had immediately fallen a bit in love with the confidence she’d had in her own masculinity. Leo and her girlfriend Alma had helped Georgie fight through the fog that had consumed her long enough to find her own identity. She could think of no one else more capable to help Jon figure himself out.

Alma had found something funny in the war-like background of their tender holiday. Queen Esther had remained in an antisemitic palace for months, barely able to eat without breaking Kosher rules, barely able to  _ speak  _ without being labeled an enemy and Georgie was celebrating that with food and a play.

“A Purim spiel,” Georgie had corrected.

“A spiel,” Alma repeated, smiling. “Well, it’s not like I can really judge. Us Latinas are plenty morbid ourselves, and we love a good party.”

They’d gotten into a discussion about different holidays, then. Alma had made some joke about the Feast of Corpus Christi, then admitted that, tonally, it seemed a bit more like Carnival. The atmosphere was different, of course. Carnival was a celebration of culture while Purim, like most Jewish holidays, was about survival, but the performance was the same. Sometimes, all your love of a day comes from the ringing in your ears and the glimmer of the dress on the stage. It’s about excitement. It’s about sharing a moment, together.

There’s no chance of getting Jon to a party now, though. Even if he’d agree to it, it was too dangerous. But it’s still a holiday and Georgie still makes her own hours, so they decide to spend the day making Hamantaschen. Jon’s scars start to ache with exertion, so Georgie offers to be the one kneading the dough.

“It’s fine,” Georgie insists, when Jon hesitates. “You’re the only reason these’ll be turning out halfway decent, anyway. I’ve got to do my part.”

“It’s just a matter of following a recipe,” Jon replies. “You could do it just as well as I.”

“But it’s so much easier when you’re here to boss me around!” Georgie teases. Jon rolls his eyes and opens a jar of jam. “Oh, let’s make some of them chocolate, too.”

“I suppose it is good to have variety,” Jon hums. He grabs the Nutella from her cabinet as Georgie begins cutting the dough into circles. “You work on chocolate, I’ll start the jam?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Georgie says, pushing a plate towards Jon as she finishes cutting the rest of the dough. “Let me know if you need a break, yeah?”

“I can handle half a batch of pastries, Georgie,” Jon says, but he’s not annoyed. He knows it’s a genuine offer, and not an attempt to coddle him. “I actually went to physical therapy for this, you know. With a—a coworker. The pain’s not as bad as it used to be.”

Georgie hums.

“Do you like your coworkers?” she asks. Jon’s knife pauses mid-spread. “Sorry. Sensitive topic, I know.”

“It’s not…” Jon frowns. “My  _ coworkers  _ weren’t really the issue. I may have been a bit…  _ harsh,  _ in the past, but my issue right now has very little to do with them.”

“So you like them?” Georgie asks. She pinches the corners of her hamantaschen together, then sets it down. Jon immediately picks it up and reforms it. Georgie raises an eyebrow at him. He looks away.

“There was one of them I used to be, ah, fairly close to,” Jon admits, glancing back towards her. “We… The position I was in before, ah, did you know—”

“Research, right?” Georgie interrupts.

“Yes, exactly!” Jon bobs his head. “It was—I had—well…”

A small smile works its way to Jon’s face.

“We were never a  _ couple,  _ really, but… I—it was a near thing. Whatever we were, the—well, the affection was plain to see.” Jon laughs. “A friend of ours used to joke that—”

He cuts himself off, looking suddenly pained.

“I really made a mess of things,” Jon admits. “I don’t—I don’t know how to fix this.”

“An apology might help,” Georgie says. Jon laughs.

“You always make things sound so simple,” he tells her. He dips his knife in jam. “I don’t know how you manage to always seem so—so  _ unaffected _ by these situations. If you had been in my situation—” Jon clenches his knife tighter and laughs again, almost manic now. “If you had been there, I doubt things would have spiraled out to this degree.”

“You’ve got too much faith in me,” Georgie says. “I’m sure you did your best.”

“And it  _ wasn’t enough—”  _ Jon cuts himself off and sighs. He drops the jam into the middle of his hamantaschen and pinches the sides, then sets it down. “Sorry. Thank you, Georgie, for your support.”

“Sure,” Georgie says. She’s finished with her batch, but Jon’s still working on his. No surprise. Even without all the distractions, he’d always been a bit of a perfectionist. Still, it’s not as though he’s got anywhere else to be.

“I do have friends, though,” Jon adds quickly. “I’m not—not  _ completely  _ unapproachable. Martin’s been bothering me lately with offers of tea, and we’ve gone out to lunch a few times, before, well…” Jon gestures vaguely. “You know.”

“Think he’s got a crush on you?” Georgie asks. Jon drops his knife. “I mean, you said it yourself, he’s been looking for excuses to spend time with you. Unless it’s really just an excuse to feed you. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re eating enough.”

“I’ve been eating enough,” Jon grumbles. He stops, realizing that, by process of elimination, the only option left is the crush. He looks at Georgie, helpless.

“Well, is he hot, at least?” Georgie asks. Jon rolls his eyes.

“Of  _ course  _ Martin is a very attractive man,” he says. “But I’m—I have—my life is very complicated, Georgie.”

“I can see that,” Georgie agrees, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. “Well, Jon, I’ve got something to tell you that I think might ease your worries.”

“And what is that?”

“You probably aren’t eating enough.” 

Jon glares at her. Georgie laughs and starts walking to her room.

“Finish your hamantaschen!” she calls. “I’ve got something for you. Give me a second.”

“Something for me?” Jon calls back, confused. Georgie picks up a small bag, decorated with smiling cats, and walks back.

“Here,” Georgie says, holding the bag out in front of her. Jon takes it, confusion still written clearly on his face. “Some salach munis.”

“Oh,” Jon’s voice cracks. “But I didn’t—I didn’t get you anything.”

“Jon,” Georgie says gently. “You don’t have money. Oh, hold on a moment.”

Georgie reaches into her freezer and pulls out a tray of dumplings.

“What—” Jon begins.

“Kreplach,” Georgie explains. “I didn’t make them. But I know you like them, so I figured it didn’t hurt to buy a few. I know you always say it’s not the way it’s  _ supposed  _ to be made, but I could stick them in with a can of chicken noodle soup and we could have it for dinner? I bought sparkling grape juice, too.”

“I did see that,” Jon says, voice strained. “That sounds… it sounds nice.”

He opens the bag, and pulls out a ghost-shaped pin in the colors of the bi flag.

“Saw that a while ago,” Georgie comments. “Been meaning to give it to you for a while.”

Jon looks at Georgie, eyes wide and filled with tears.

“Jon,” Georgie says, taking a step towards him. He holds up a hand to stop her and dries his eyes with the other.

“I just,” Jon begins. “I don’t know why you’re being so  _ nice  _ to me. I—I come here, I take advantage of your hospitality, and you—you give me  _ gifts!  _ After all the trouble I’ve caused…”

“I like having you here,” Georgie reminds him gently. “It’s no trouble at all, really. How long should we cook the hamantaschen for, again?”

“About thirty minutes,” Jon says. He wipes his eyes again. “Georgie, I want you to know—whatever else happens, I—I’m glad I—I’m glad  _ you  _ chose to let me in. Thank you.”

Georgie smiles at him as she slides the pan into the oven.

“You know I’ve got your back, Jon,” she tells him. “Always.”

There’s a coffee shop on Oxford’s central campus the two of them used to visit whenever they had a free moment in uni. Georgie would have coffee, Jon would order tea, and two would spend the rest of the afternoon talking about their day, or about whatever had caught their attention at the time. Jon interrupting their conversation about the history funeral parlors one day with, “Do you think I might be gay?” was a bit of a surprise, but, honestly, not as off-topic as it sounded.

“I don’t know,” Georgie had replied, glad for a more substantial excuse to give up on her crush. “Is there a guy you like?”

“Well, no, but…” Jon frowned. “It’s a bit… complicated. I'm sorry I should've brought this up. Ignore me.”

“No,” Georgie said. “I want to hear it.”

Jon took a sip of his tea.

“I suppose I’m just realizing how… safe some of my crushes have been. I have been interested in women before, but many of them were, ah, generally ones I assumed to be uninterested in men.”

_ Lesbians,  _ Georgie’s mind helpfully supplied. She wondered if that was why he wanted her opinion. Georgie was glad she was apparently now at a point in her life where most people assumed she liked girls without having to say anything, especially to Jon, who’d met her before she’d started making an active effort to present more masculine.

“Or you just like butch women,” Georgie said. “I can't blame you, we're pretty great.”

Jon scowled.

“I just thought you might have some insight,” he said. “You seem very… sure of yourself, I suppose. I’d—well, I’m a bit jealous of that.”

“I don’t have anything figured out,” Georgie informed him. “I just know I like girls and I like people calling me handsome. That’s about as deep as I get. This,” Georgie tapped her skull. “Is completely empty. All air.”

What she didn’t say was that it was easy to ignore your own feelings when a part of you was still convinced you were dead. Easy to convince yourself that any discomfort was just the idea of a still-breathing body, and not that the face in the mirror was never something you felt you could call your own. That was a problem for another day.

“I…” Jon began. He paused. Took another sip of tea, and adjusted his posture. “I don’t think I’m so fond of being thought of as handsome.”

“Yeah?” Georgie said, in a tone she hoped was encouraging. Jon just shook his head.

“Did you know that Oxford has been operating in some capacity since 1096?” he asked suddenly. “How many ghosts do you think have manifested in that time?”

“Depends on how many ghosts appear every year, I guess,” Georgie replied. “Ten sound about right?”

Jon scoffed.

“There’d be more than that on Halloween alone,” he said. Jon patted his jacket, looking for a pen. “Hold on, let me…”

For a moment, Georgie considered letting the conversation end there. But, no. Not when he’d been brave enough to voice something to her. That was something other people struggled with, wasn’t it? The least she could do was offer something in return.

“It takes time to figure out  _ why  _ you want something,” Georgie said. “For a while, I kind of assumed I didn’t want to date guys because I didn’t want them to see me as a girl. But then I realized that even though it was about gender, it wasn’t just that. The problem was, all the guys I knew—what  _ they  _ wanted from a girl in a relationship, and what  _ I  _ wanted in a relationship—I just knew it wouldn’t add up.” 

Jon stared at her with interest. Georgie took a sip of coffee and considered her next words.

“It’s kind of hard to be ‘the butch’ with a guy, you know?” she said. “It’s like—like when you’re dancing with a partner, someone always has to lead. And sometimes, if you’re with certain people, or if you look a certain way, everyone assumes that you’ll be the one who wants to get dipped, or be held. Sorry, that’s a weird way of putting it. Am I making sense?”

“I… think so,” Jon replied. “It’s just as much about presentation as it is about your feelings on whosoever has caught your attention. Thinking about… what you’d  _ do  _ with someone in a relationship, rather than asking if you’re completely opposed to one gender or another. Does that mean that you  _ would  _ date a man, if he’s—interested in being led, as you say?” 

“Dunno. Haven’t met many guys like that,” Georgie said carefully, trying not to think about how easy it’d be for her to hold tight to his slender frame. She raised an eyebrow. “Why? Thinking about going dancing?”

Instead of replying, Jon turned away, flustered, and instead of acknowledging the way his eyes suddenly wouldn’t meet her own, Georgie pulled them back into a conversation about Oxford's many ghosts. 

Like she said. Problem for another day.

Today, Jon heads to a cafe in a skirt that Georgie had been planning on giving to a now-ex girlfriend along with an old jacket her cousin had left when she’d stayed over a few months back, and, of course, a  _ What the Ghost?  _ shirt. He’s also wearing lipstick—black, of course, something she’d borrowed for a party about a year back, it’s the only make-up in her flat. He looks so unlike the professional who had shown up at her door that Georgie can’t help but pull his hood down past his eyes as he gets ready to leave.

“Georgie,” Jon says, sounding only slightly disappointed in her.

“It’s your disguise,” Georgie explains. “Got to make sure to hide your face.”

“If anyone recognizes me in this jacket, I deserve whatever happens next,” Jon snorts. He adjusts his hood and looks down at her. “Thank you. For talking to her for me. I know it’s not—it’s… You’ve put up with a lot.”

“You’ve put up with a lot from me, too.” Georgie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “And you didn’t mean to get dragged into whatever this is. I’m not going to blame you for needing help. Even if I  _ am  _ surprised to see you asking Melanie for it.”

Jon presses his lips together.

“I may have… overreacted in our first meeting,” he admits. “She’s—I should have trusted your taste in friends.”

Georgie grins and pats Jon on the shoulder.

“It’s not too late for her to be  _ your  _ friend, too,” she tells him. “Try not to get into too much trouble, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jon promises. Georgie hands him his cane. He’d been mostly fine without it, just walking around her flat, but she wasn’t going to let him risk public transportation without it. Jon thanks her and heads out the door, giving her a small wave before he goes. Georgie smiles, and waves back.

He never tells her what they talk about, but Jon comes back looking focused. Georgie wants to claim it as a good sign, but with that focus comes research, and even if that wasn’t enough to guess he might be planning on making another tape, the sudden increase in flinches and the circles slowly beginning to darken his eyes are a bit hard to ignore. He’d been  _ so good _ at avoiding it, though. She’d almost thought he was getting better. But she’s not sure what to do with this. Georgie doesn’t want to start pointing fingers. Whatever else was going on, she needed him  _ safe.  _ Whatever kind of… relapse he was on the verge of, it would have to be handled carefully. There was no point in mentioning it if her words made things worse.

The music comes as a surprise. Georgie’s in the middle of recording an episode, preparing to edit in sound effects she  _ knows  _ will make Jon cringe when a muffled sound interrupts her. She tugs her headphones off her ears and opens a window. She looks around, but can’t find any source of the organ that’s very clearly playing on repeat. Georgie frowns and makes her way to Jon’s room, opening the door without knocking.

“Do you hear that?” Georgie asks. “Like, an ice cream van or something?”

“Circus,” Jon replies. He doesn’t move from the desk he’s sitting at, clenching a tape recorder in his hands. Oh,  _ of course. _ No wonder he was so tense.

“Yeah,” Georgie says. “Yeah, that’s it. Thought I was going mad… are you alright?”

Jon looks up at her, eyes wide. Georgie frowns.

“Was it the tape?”

“W-w—no,” Jon says, confused. He points toward a window, hand trembling. “It’s—it’s outside.” 

“Not the music,” Georgie clarifies. “Your face.”

Jon grimaces, but doesn’t answer.

“That’s it,” Georgie declares. “Whatever the hell this deal is, the tapes, documents, I don’t want them in my house.”

If this was the reaction he was having, even after avoiding them all month, Georgie didn’t want to see what happened when he inevitably read another. G-d, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t even  _ noticed.  _ Maybe he hadn’t been avoiding it. Maybe this was just the first time he’d been unlucky enough for her to catch him.

“Look, look…” Jon begins. He scrambles out of his chair and hobbles towards her. “No, no… Look, you, you don’t need to be scared.”

“I’m not!” Georgie exclaims, furious that he was labeling  _ her  _ as the problem here.  _ “You  _ are! Look at you, you can barely stand!”

“But I… But I need—”

“Listen to me, Jon,” Georgie says, voice firm. “I can’t stop you doing… whatever secret bullshit you want to do, and I’m… not going to throw you out on the street, but I’m not having it in by home.”

“No… No, they won’t,” Jon begins, voice unsteady. He grips the tape recorder tighter and swallows. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t… I’ll keep it far away.”

“No, you need to stop,” Georgie says.

Jon sets the recorder down on the desk beside him and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure I can,” he admits, eyes still trained on the recorder in front of him. He doesn’t turn to look at her.

Distantly, Georgie hears a click. She sighs, releasing the tension building in her shoulders. There was no way she was touching that, not now, not when all she wanted to do was scream at him for letting this, whatever it was, go so far. She couldn’t. Whatever else is going on in his life, she wants to keep her flat safe. And she wants  _ him  _ safe in it. She doesn’t know how to make him understand that. She wishes she could tell him that even if she could feel fear, nothing about this situation would have ever made her afraid for herself.

“Alright,” Georgie says. “If the music’s bothering you so much, you can borrow my headphones, just—I don’t know. Just be careful.”

Jon offers her a wavering smile as she places the headphones in his hands. She knows he won’t wear them. His fear of the unknown was always stronger than his desire to walk away. Jon had always been the kind of person to willingly fall into a hole in the ground just to make sure he knew there were spikes at the bottom. Pain was so hard to save someone from when you knew it was intentional.

“Thank you, Georgie,” Jon says, hands shaking slightly. “I’ll—I’ll do my best.”

Jon starts going out more, after that—just to see Melanie, he insists, but Georgie’s not sure how much she believes that. And, honestly, she’s not sure how much she cares about who he’s meeting as much as the  _ why,  _ and the fact that wherever he goes, he still needs to avoid the cops to get there. She knows how easy it is for a life to change completely. All it takes for everything to go wrong is a moment. If Jon turns the wrong way, if the wrong person recognizes him—freedom was just as fleeting as life. 

Sometimes, Georgie wishes she could still be afraid, because she’s not sure how else to feel now. She doesn’t want to wake up and see Jon, shifty and afraid and think,  _ I can’t save him,  _ feeling no emotion but a tired acceptance of what was to come.

The sky is blue. The Admiral is gray. And Jonathan Sims is doomed.

And the worst part about it is that he didn’t used to be like this. When Georgie first met him, he had been trying  _ so hard  _ to be better. To find a life that was comfortable and filling, no matter how deeply he had convinced himself that this could never be the case. And this journey had helped her as much as she had helped him. The first time he had called a guy attractive, it had been an actor in a movie they’d been watching with Leo and Alma. She’d felt him stiffen beside her until she’d said, “Yeah, I think so, too.” She’d never told him she had been just as nervous as him. It’d been the first time she’d called a guy attractive, too, and a part of her was worried about abandoning the girl she used to be.

“It’s a good thing we both have such excellent taste,” Jon told her, voice a faux whisper, and just as her words had steadied him, his had calmed her.

“A good thing,” Georgie agreed.

They went to synagogue together, because Georgie was having trouble keeping to schedules and Jon got anxious being alone. They went to parties together, because they both needed to meet people but didn’t know how. They had loved life together and, one day, they had made the decision to love each other, too.

It had happened naturally, for no reason at all. She had been laughing at a stupid joke Jon told her as they were walking home from some party, and bumped their hands together. The two of them shivered like they had felt a spark. They’d both apologized, awkwardly, but couldn’t help but find each other’s eyes. And as they stared, waiting in the moonlight, Georgie had reached up to tuck a piece of hair out of his eyes and whispered, softly, “Can I kiss you?” and Jon had bit his lip and given nothing but a shaky nod.

It meant more, that she had fought to love him. That she had seen him melt for her, and plucked the ice out of her own heart in response. It meant more, because she knew he had known her. That she had helped him find a label while she was still shopping for her own. What a beautiful thing it was, to fall in love with someone who had just discovered himself. 

When she pulled away, Georgie’s first thought was of Jon’s fluttering lashes, and the mascara painted on them. There was a strange rush of pride within her as she ran her hand through his hair. He was so beautiful, and he had fought so hard for it. It’d taken him time to find make-up he’d liked, and it’d been just as long to figure out how to wear it, even with Alma’s help. Georgie’s sure, if she looked back, she’d realize that one of his wings was longer than the other, or that he hadn’t blended the blush properly or whatever, but at the time, he looked like perfection. If she had been given the chance to own the Mona Lisa, or to stare at Jon’s flushed face for the rest of eternity, she would have chosen him without hesitation. Whatever it was, whatever anyone offered, it wouldn’t have been worth it if it wasn’t him.

His lips were chapped. Georgie remembers that, because she remembers buying him lip balm the next day. She remembers that their lips had barely touched, but that had been more than enough for the both of them, that the closeness between them had almost choked her, and she had loved every second of it. She remembers laughing to herself and saying, “I guess you did want to go dancing, after all” and Jon had laughed at her for referencing a conversation they’d had months ago.

“But you remembered it, didn’t you?” Georgie replied, nudging him playfully.

“I remember everything you tell me,” Jon admitted.

“Then remember this,” Georgie said. She didn’t tell him that her next words would be something she never expected to say again, or that to even be close enough to even think it would be nothing short of a miracle. Instead, she leaned up to meet his ear and whispered, “I love you.”

  
  


Today, he comes home while Georgie’s cooking dinner, double, triple checking the lock before walking inside and Georgie thinks about uni, and his silver hair, illuminated by the moonlight, thinks of him spinning the bracelet on his wrist as he worked up the courage to lean in for another kiss and says, “Welcome home.”


	3. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The schedule for this month:  
> celebrate Passover  
> look for Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight tw for use of the q slur, used only in a discussion about identity & where comfort areas lie with it

Before Georgie knows it, it’s almost time for Passover. Jon is, understandably, not too interested in celebrating a holiday about escaping to freedom, considering the situation he’s still in, but there’s not much he can do about that, because Georgie already agreed to host a seder at her flat months before.

Jon tells her not to cancel on them. He doesn’t want his presence in her life to ruin her plans, even if she’d only really agreed to it because she had the biggest kitchen table. He offers to leave, but there’s nowhere for him to go but Melanie’s, and she’d been invited to the seder—she’d been reconsidering coming, apparently, too busy with her new job, and besides, it wasn’t like she was Jewish, anyway, though it’d been a while since she caught up with other Mel, and it’d be a shame to miss them—but either way, Georgie wasn’t sure how safe it was for Jon to stay out for too long.

“Georgie, I’ll be fine,” Jon insists. “The—it’s not like anyone’s come looking for me, aside from, well—it’s—it’s better I go, if you’re worried about danger. At least that way, you’ll be able to celebrate in peace.”

“I mean…” Georgie chooses her words carefully. “If you don’t have a problem with staying, I don’t. But I figured you seemed like you wanted to avoid crowds, so…”

Jon bites his lip.

“It's not so much the crowd that’s the problem,” he says. “There are… things I should be looking into. I’m not really—I shouldn’t be taking breaks.”

“It’s Passover, Jon,” Georgie says. “Can’t you just be proud you’ve survived?”

A startled laugh makes its way out of Jon’s lips.

“Sorry,” he says immediately. He takes a step back and puts a hand to his mouth. “It’s not—that wasn’t you, I’m just… sorry.”

Georgie stares at him for a moment. She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to. A part of her hates how familiar this conversation feels. The year after Alex—well, survival didn’t always feel like something to be proud of. Especially when you did it alone.

There had been blood on his hands when he first came to see her. Georgie pushes the thought out of her mind.

“I’m not going to force you into anything,” she tells him. “Just—do what you think is best. What you think is _safest,_ I mean.”

Jon presses his lips together.

“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” he promises.

He helps her make matzah ball soup.

It’s clear to her that this is an apology, of sorts. For staying so long, for being so afraid of the world outside, for not coming to the seder—he hasn’t said anything about that, yet, but she can see it in his eyes. He’s going to lock himself in his room. It’s about what she’d expected.

“Do you remember,” Jon begins carefully. “When we…”

He trails off, shoulders hunched, as if he’d suddenly decided he didn’t deserve to engage further.

“I still put grapes on the table, sometimes,” Georgie says suddenly. “I remember, when we celebrated with Sam, back in uni, and she told us about why people started putting oranges on seder plates.”

“Because oranges have as much a place at the table as a Jewish rabbi,” Jon says, nodding. He remembers the story, too.

“Too bad Sam was the only lesbian at the table,” Georgie says. It was sweet, honestly, how horrified Sam had been to realize that something that represented _her_ didn’t automatically include them. Georgie and Jon both would have been fine with the table as it was, but Sam had insisted on adding something for them, too. Georgie’s not sure which of them asked for grapes, or why, aside from the fact it was probably the first purple food they could think of, and the fact that Sam swore to include an out of season fruit still makes Georgie laugh. 

“I, ah, did look into it,” Jon adds. “I think the orange might have been the rabbi’s idea, in the first place. She, er, wanted to symbolize that Jewish gay men and lesbians were a fruitful part of the community, and that we had to, ah, spit out homophobia as we did seeds?”

“Might’ve heard something about that,” Georgie says. “See, this is why I miss having you at my seder. The table just doesn’t feel the same without you.”

Jon ducks his head into his shoulder. Georgie turns the stovetop down.

“It’s been over a decade,” Jon reminds her gently, still not looking in her direction.

“And I’ve still never met anyone who reads the haggadah like you,” Georgie says. “We’re doing a special one this year, actually. Dunno if you’ve heard of the Stonewall Seder—”

“From B’nai Jeshurun?” Jon asks. He peeks his head out, interested. “A friend told me about it, actually. Xe lives in America, so xe’s a bit more, ah, tuned in, I suppose, to the community there. It always interested me, that someone might use a holiday about liberation to support groups that _hadn’t_ been given that yet. To, to emphasize that even as we celebrate, there are those still fighting, and it’s our duty, both as Jews, and as members of a marginalized community, to fight _with_ them. And conversations about—about language, and where your comfort level lays—”

Jon’s hands move with him as he speaks, getting more and more animated as he goes. Georgie smiles.

“Right up your ally, isn’t it?” she says. Jon’s hands freeze. He offers a sheepish smile in response.

“Next year,” he says. It comes out as more of a plea than a promise. “Today is just… I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Georgie says. She doesn’t understand the anger that bubbles inside her. The venom on her tongue comes as an unwelcomed surprise. “Next year, in Jerusalem.” 

Jon disappears the moment there’s a knock on the door. When she opens it, Rebeckah sweeps Georgie into a hug while Toni makes her way to Georgie’s kitchen to set down whatever’s inside the giant container in her arms. There’s too much tinfoil for Georgie to say for sure, but it smells great.

“Is Melanie here?” Toni asks, looking around hesitantly. “I haven’t seen her since—well, you know.” 

“No,” Georgie says. “She said she might not be able to make it. I was thinking of calling her now, actually, just to make sure.”

Rebeckah and Toni nod.

“You call Melanie,” Rebeckah says. “We’ll keep an eye on everything.”

“Lifesavers, the both of you,” Georgie tells them, heading back to her room. Before she does, she peeks into Jon’s room. He’s sitting on his bed, petting the Admiral.

 _“Sorry,”_ he mouths, looking downright guilty. Georgie just shrugs.

“Keep him out of trouble,” she says, tilting her head in a way that makes it impossible to tell which one of them she’s talking to. Jon looks at Georgie, then back at the Admiral, and scowls, offended by the thought she might put a cat in charge of _him._ Georgie snorts and walks away.

It takes a few rings for Melanie to answer the phone. When she does, she sounds tired and cranky, as if she just woke up.

“H’llo?” Melanie mumbles.

“It’s Passover,” Georgie says. She hears her door open again. “You never said if you were coming or not, so…”

“I’m not,” Melanie says. The sharpness of her tone surprises them both. Melanie takes a deep breath before she continues speaking. “Sorry, I just—you’re not going to want me there, Georgie.”

“Pretty sure I’m always going to want you here,” Georgie says.

“Not now,” Melanie says firmly. She sighs again. “I don’t—I don’t think I can explain it. I’m—it’s just, it’s not a good day for me. And I don’t want to ruin things for you, especially when—I mean, it’s not really my place.”

“Okay,” Georgie says slowly. “I’ll… tell everyone you’ve got a work thing? New job’s making it hard for you to spare any time for yourself, but you miss everyone, and you’re sorry you missed this.”

“Yeah.” Melanie sounds distracted. Or possibly just pissed, honestly. It’s not an emotion Georgie’s used to seeing in her.

She hangs up without a goodbye. Georgie stares at her phone for a moment, then makes her way back to the kitchen, pretending not to know how long it’s been since they saw each other last.

They used to talk every week.

The service is fine. It’s—she does have fun, really, but there’s a part of her that’s still waiting for Jon to make his way back to the kitchen. To smile and introduce himself to everyone, laughing slightly when Toni asks if he’s _the_ Jonathan Sims.

“The one and only,” Georgie will say, smirking slightly at Jon’s surprise.

She can picture it clearly. As Jon asks Toni what she’s heard, there will be a knock on the door. Melanie. She’ll apologize for being late, but she’ll have some kind of snack—kosher, of course, goyische or not, Melanie knows better than to bring bread to the table—that will get her forgiven instantly. When they start the seder, they’ll make her read first, a fact that will make Jon preen as though he’s won something, even though Melanie’s not the youngest in any way but spiritually.

They’ll do the full reading. It’s long, but honestly, what seder isn’t? It’s easy to sit through, though. With Jon’s voice and a few breaks to stim, it barely feels like any time at all.

Today, Leah asks if they really have to have the conversation after—the facilitation of a conversation regarding identity, and the words you use to describe yourself is technically still part of the haggadah, but it’s not as necessary to the ritual as some of the rest.

“I mean, it’s not like it’s not something we haven’t talked about before,” Leah says. “I think we all know what we think about the word _jew.”_

“I’m not going to force anyone to do anything,” Georgie says. And, honestly, Leah’s right. Georgie knows, if Jon was here, he’d tell her that in terms of what he _could_ be called, it ranks fairly low as an insult. Queer, though, ranks a fair bit higher. 

Jon’s not a fan of vagueness. Hearing it from others always makes it sound like an insult, but at the end of the day, it’s just not something he’d use because it doesn’t describe him. If Jon has a label, he wants to describe the whole of him. Bisexual does that better than anything else. Georgie’s a bit of the same. She’s not as sensitive to words as she used to be, but that’s only made her hate them more. What right does she have to repeat them, when they’ll never make her flinch?

And, honestly, no one really looks at her and thinks _Jewish._ She understands Jon there, too. Even if it’s an insult, it’d be a nice change of pace.

Georgie knows, also, that Toni and Mel generally describe themselves as queer, but Rebeckah hates it, though she describes herself as a jew more than any of the rest of them. Leah doesn’t mind either, but her comfort level changes depending on the day. Georgie wants to know where Melanie would fit into this. She doesn’t really know how Melanie feels about the word queer, other than she rarely uses it to describe herself, and there’s bound to be a word Melanie feels she can talk about instead of jew, but Georgie doesn’t know that, either. She wants to hear what Melanie would say. What they’d both say. She wants to see Leah come up to Jon, afterwards, and thank him for making sure they did this in its entirety. She wants to hear about Jon’s friend, the one who told him about this in the first place, and ask how they met. She wants to know who he was when she wasn’t there to watch him. She wants them to raise their glasses together at the end of the day and declare, “Next year, in Jerusalem,” and smile with the satisfaction of a ritual completed. She wants him to be here when someone compliments his soup. She wants someone to count the heads and joke about how there’s enough of them for a minyan. She wants them to leave her flat knowing they’ll keep in touch. That this wasn’t a one-time thing, and they’ll still see each other tomorrow and Jon will leave her flat with a smile and a wave, unafraid of the world beyond.

But today, Jerusalem’s still so far away.

Jon disappears on a Monday. Georgie doesn’t think much about it at first, because in the two weeks since Passover, he’d been getting a bit bolder. She never liked it when he left, but that didn’t mean she had the right to stop him. If he wanted to come back home at 3 am, there really wasn’t much Georgie could do. But Tuesday, he’s still not home, and it’s clear he hasn’t been back to his room since and Georgie considers the pros and cons of calling Melanie. 

She doubts the other woman would mind, even if she is supposed to be at work, but Georgie can’t stop thinking about the growl in her voice the last time they talked. It’s not anxiety—or, she doesn’t think it is, at least. It’d been a long time since Georgie was actually worried about what other people thought, but if Melanie didn’t want to speak to Georgie, then wasn’t it rude, to be the one reaching out?

Georgie pauses.

“No,” she tells her phone. “That’s stupid. Jon’s missing.”

She sends a text instead, not even bothering to use Jon’s full name—at least if the cops go through her phone, later, she can always insist “J” is someone else—and asks if Melanie knows where he’s gone. Then she starts pacing around her flat, filled with far too many emotions to even begin to know how to handle them. A few minutes later, her phone buzzes.

 _“Had me look into some1. couldnt find a number. just know shes here in london,”_ Melanie writes. _“Not a threat, just a weirdo.”_

Well, that explained nothing.

Georgie texts back her thanks, then goes to find the Admiral, who’s curled himself up on Jon’s bed.

“Sorry,” Georgie tells him. “I don’t know how to bring him back, either.”

Wednesday, she goes into Jon’s room and stares at the tape recorder on her desk.

“He was happy before you, you know,” Georgie says. She doesn’t care about how ridiculous it looks that she’s acting like it’s to blame for all of this. One of the perks of having her heart ripped out by a ghost—her shame never bothered growing back, either. “We didn’t talk much, but I know that. He was _so proud_ that the Institute made him one of their researchers. He’s not big on Facebook, so when he’s online, I know it’s important. And he posted about that. I saw him tagged in posts with other researchers. They were _friends._ He went out for drinks, he laughed at inside jokes, and you—you _took_ that from him. You made him think he wasn’t worth it.”

Belatedly, Georgie realizes the tape is still rolling.

“Fuck you,” she says. Then, louder. _“Fuck you._ I’m not going to be a part of this.”

She ejects the tape, pressing down harder than necessary. Georgie grabs the tape in her hand and throws it down on the floor. She steps on it with her foot, screams, then goes to get her boots and tries again.

“I’m going to save him,” Georgie says, and wonders why she’s shaking. “I’m going to save him, and I’m not—I’m going to make him stop, you hear me? I’m going to fix this. He’s going to come home and he’s never going to record another stupid tape ever again, because—because—” 

The Admiral’s collar jingles behind her. Georgie collapses to the ground, anger seeping out of her body like a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

“You’re right,” Georgie says. She sniffs and turns to face her cat, slowly coaxing him into her arms. He purrs as she begins to scratch his neck. “The tapes, they’re evidence. If something’s happened to him, it’ll be on there. If the cops—or, _heh,_ someone who actually knows what they’re doing—if someone’s going to retrace his steps, they’ll need to know what to look for.”

Despite the Admiral’s protests, Georgie stands up. Wordlessly, she moves through the room in front of her, gathering the old tapes and statement papers in her hands. The Admiral follows her as she walks back to her room and shoves everything in an old shoebox she hides under her bed.

 _Time doesn’t exist,_ she reminds herself. _There’s no difference between tomorrow and today._

If Jon would come home, he’d come home. There was no use spending time worried in between. Either he was dead, or she could still save him.

  
  


“I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this,” Georgie had admitted, after their first kiss. “Dating, I mean. There’s—Jon, there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know if I can explain it. Sometimes I just feel like—like I’ve got this hole in my heart. I just don’t know how to be enough anymore.”

Jon took her hand and laced it with his own.

“You’re enough,” he told her. “You always have been, Georgie.”

So she pulled him tight and kissed him again.

  
  


Friday, Georgie grabs the cassette she destroyed and burns the tape. The Admiral wrinkles his nose at the smell.

  
  


Saturday, Georgie comes home to the sound of narration.

“Seriously?” she asks the empty air. Georgie puts her keys down and stomps to Jon’s room.

“So what?” she demands. Jon and the Admiral both give her a guilty look. “You were just packing this away?”

“Georgie, I—” Jon sets the Admiral down. “I just—I needed to do _one_ more.”

“I asked you not to record them here anymore,” Georgie says, because, _“I thought you were dead”_ wasn’t going to do her any favors here.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, sincere. “I… I honestly forgot. It’s been a hell of a week.”

Georgie scoffs.

“Yeah, not just for you,” she tells him. “What, you think you just disappear for five days, then turn up looking like the—like the end of _Die Hard,_ and I’ll just write it off? ‘Classic John, what an interesting life he must lead.’”

“No, I—” Jon tries to say.

“Where have you been?” Georgie demands. “And what happened to your hand?”

Not to mention, the plaster on his neck. Georgie doubted that whatever it was hiding was something she wanted to see, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want an _explanation._

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough.”

“Look, I’m moving out anyway, so just… just forget it,” Jon says. He stands up and throws his hands out in front of him. Everything about his body language demands her to stop blocking the door. Georgie doesn’t move. “I’m out of your life. Alright?”

“No,” Georgie says, surprised by the harshness in her own tone.

“No?” Jon repeats, startled. “No… what?”

“You leave, you don’t get your tapes back,” Georgie says.

And, of course, that’s what gets him. Georgie can see the gears turning in his head, looking for a way to get his tapes without revealing anything. Because that’s his priority now. Not her, not his own _safety,_ just the tapes. After a moment, Jon sighs and says, “It all started when I got my job at the Magnus Institute.”

He tells her he’s the head archivist, despite his hilarious lack of qualifications. When she presses him for details, he snaps, “Look, I’m trying to tell you, monsters are real!”

“Okay,” Georgie says.

“Okay,” Jon repeats.

“I mean, I know monsters are real,” she continues, a bit surprised he would assume otherwise. After all the conversations they’d had in uni, did he really think she wouldn’t take him seriously? “I assume there’s more?”

“You—you just believe me?” Jon asks, and just like that, Georgie’s anger fades.

 _Fuck you for making him so desperate,_ Georgie thinks as her eyes slide towards the tape. It’s running. Of course it is. _Fuck you for making him think I wouldn’t be on his side._

“It’s not belief,” Georgie says. “I’ve seen them.”

“You’ve _seen—”_

“Not the time, Jon.”

“Right,” Jon says. “It’s just—I think I’m turning into one.”

“That’s… not great,” Georgie says. Jon raises an eyebrow as if to say _“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”_ Georgie shrugs, helplessly. She’d never been good at sympathy, even before. But Jon knows that, so he keeps talking.

He tells her about his compulsions. Jon pulls a secret out of her head like it’s nothing, and tells her that he’s not the only one who can, that there’s people out there, people with _powers,_ and they’re all tied to something bigger.

“They’re like…” Jon says, waving his hand as he tries to find the right word.

“Avatars?” Georgie offers.

“Avatars!” Jon agrees, and Georgie can see he’s making a mental note to change the wording in whatever official documents archivists use. Or, whatever official documents archivists without any degrees use. “But they end up getting these abilities, and they lose a lot of their _self._ Sometimes all of it.”

He tells her the Institute serves one of the powers. That working for that power is part of his job now. Georgie thinks Jon being promoted for his ability to ask questions makes much more sense than him being hired based on actual credentials. He lets out a tired sigh when she brings it up, but doesn’t argue.

“So,” Georgie summarizes. “So, you’ve discovered your boss is evil, making you kind of evil, and you can’t quit, so you… fled here?

“Well, there were some murders,” Jon admits.

Ah. Explained the police, then. But not his hand.

Another avatar, Jon says. One focused on fire and destruction. All the bad bits without any of the light or joy. He had to meet her to ask about a ritual. Something called the Unknowing, meant to remake the world. Georgie can’t help but smile at that. Finally, something familiar. 

“Jonathan Sims,” she asks. “Are you trying to save the world?”

Jon looks at her, surprised.

“I… suppose I am,” he admits.

Georgie leads Jon to her kitchen and starts heating up water for tea. Jon sets his tape recorder on the table.

She still doesn’t like it, but she supposes it’s only fair. He trusted her enough to open up. Now it’s time for her to do the same. 

When Georgie starts talking about Alex, she feels, for a moment, what might be a stirring of fear.

It feels like a punch to the stomach, but from a fight with a phantom. Like getting the wind knocked out of you, but before you can even begin to gasp for air, it’s sucked back in, and Georgie’s voice doesn’t even stutter as she regales Jon with the tale of who she used to be. Of what she almost was.

There’s a girl living under her skin. When Jon asks his questions, she’s the one who answers. She’s the one who lived through this. The one who stood trembling, as her friend collapsed beside her. The one who closed her eyes tight and prayed for a miracle, so frightened of the world around her, but Georgie—

Georgie doesn’t feel a thing.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Jon says, once she’s done. Georgie snorts and pours them both tea, trying to ignore the clawing at her ribcage. If she were human, she might be trembling.

“Well, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were on the run from the police over two murders,” Georgie retorts. Jon nods his head weakly.

“No, you…” he says. “You’re right, I…”

“Are you alright?” Georgie asks. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Jon’s head shoots back up.

“Uh, no, I – I just…” he says. His head starts drooping again, like the weight’s too much for him. “Ther-there’s been a lot of statements, in not a lot of time. I’m… I’m exhausted. I kind of wish I knew, uh, knew even _one_ person who genuinely wasn’t involved.”

Georgie’s not so sure how much that’s true. In all her time knowing him, Jon had always looked for people who would understand. He’d never wanted an outsider’s perspective, not really. He’d just wanted someone who could walk alongside him.

Georgie tells Jon to get some rest and he nods, distracted, before slowly getting up from his chair. Georgie hears a click in the background as she helps him back to bed. She closes the door as she leaves his room and sighs. The Admiral looks at her, head tilted in confusion.

“Next year better be worth it,” Georgie tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote Georgie smashing the tape recorder before she did it in canon. I'm glad we all know it's what she deserves. Also, yes, Melanie and Georgie have a friend who's also named Mel! Sometimes to distinguish them in conversation, Melanie is referred to as the gentile mel, but somewhere along the way, someone stumbled over their words and she's now gentle-y. There is no reason for you to know this. I just thought it'd be funny.


	4. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The schedule for this month:  
> learn how to say goodbye

Georgie used to scare people. 

It was never intentional, but it was cruel. Fear always was. It did her no good to soften the pain she had caused with talk of recovery. Georgie was a good person, now. Good enough, at least. But moving forward didn’t change the past.

She used to scare Jon, sometimes, too. Without fear, the line between teasing and terror was harder to draw then she had expected, especially back before they had started dating, back when Georgie would wake up clenching her teeth as a new emotion burrowed its way back into her body.

She used to think she was so cool. Fearless and brave, just like Alex. She wasn’t taking shit from anyone, and she could see the awe her boldness inspired in Jon, an awe she had felt plenty of times herself, only a year prior. She convinced herself it was fine. She could stand up for herself now. Why shouldn’t she?

But that didn’t excuse the way she balanced on ledges. The way Jon would grip her shirt and hiss, _“Georgie, please, this is dangerous,”_ and she’d laugh him off and do something so stupid she’s sure he knew how little she cared about staying alive. Until one day, she turned around to pry his fingers off her clothes and felt the full force of her guilt flooding back into her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You’re right, this isn’t funny. Let’s go home.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me,” Georgie said. “I should have known better.”

It occurred to her, then, how often conversations with Alex had left her trembling with anxiety. How she had never stopped being grateful they were friends, but she hadn’t always had fun, either. Georgie didn’t want that. Didn’t to _be_ that. Bravery meant nothing if it wasn’t kind.

The lights are off when she comes home. Or, no—not _off._ Georgie tries the switch a few times. Nothing. Just darkness.

 _Huh,_ she thinks. _Well, that’s not good._

Georgie wanders blindly through the hallway until she makes her way to Jon’s room. Without the light, all she can make out is a vague figure curled up with the Admiral.

“There was a guest,” Jon offers. He stares straight ahead, barely acknowledging her presence. Georgie waits, but he doesn’t elaborate, or look her way. Alright. Fine. Clearly, they had bigger problems.

“Did you eat dinner?” Georgie asks, then frowns. “Is the stove working?”

“She just took the lights,” Jon says. “It’s—it’s not an electrical problem.”

“Good,” Georgie says. She doesn’t bother asking who “she” is. “It’ll cost less to fix, then.”

Jon stares at her.

“Do you want to eat by candlelight?” Georgie asks. “I only have Hanukkah candles, but well, better than nothing, right? Not really feeling like going to the store right now to buy however many lights we need.”

Jon stiffens.

“I don’t… I’d rather not…” he begins.

“I can make my own food, Jon,” Georgie says. “You’re not the only one here who can cook. I can make something for us, too. I’ve only set off the smoke alarm once.”

“Twice.”

“The second time doesn’t count,” Georgie insists. “You were distracting me.”

Jon doesn’t argue, but he uncurls slightly. The Admiral peaks through his shoulders and meows at Georgie. Yeah, she knows. What a mess, huh?

“Or we could just order out,” she adds. “How do you feel about Chinese?”

“Fried rice sounds lovely right now,” Jon admits.

“Cool,” Georgie says. She gestures to her phone “I’ll order some now.”

They spend their time waiting for the meal searching the flat for any source of light. By the time the delivery woman knocks on Georgie’s door, they’ve found two torches—one with batteries, one without—three glow-in-the-dark ghost stickers, and a scented candle Georgie had been given in a gift exchange a few years back. They don’t find any matches, so they use Jon’s lighter, which puts them both in a bad mood. Georgie doesn’t tell him that it’s a cruel joke to give to a former smoker, especially one so afraid of spiders. There’s few gifts that scream “I don’t care about your recovery” as loudly as something like that. He doesn’t tell her who gave it to him. He doesn’t let her take it, either. Instead of dealing with that, Georgie turns on her TV and they spend the rest of the night watching baking shows on her couch.

“I’ll make that for you,” Jon offers, pointing at the screen with his chopsticks. “When all this is over.”

“Yeah?” Georgie says. “Guess I better buy more flour, then.”

  
  


Training yourself into kindness starts like this— 

Killing the spider in your flat. It’s easy to say you’re not afraid of bugs without giving the full story. Easy to rescue someone’s kite from a tree when you’re not the one afraid of falling. It’s even easier to be the one having a hard conversation when you don’t really care about the result. One time, Georgie had even broken up with her flatmate’s boyfriend for her. He hadn’t taken it well, but looking back, she probably hadn’t broken the news well, either. Still, people trusted her. In the minds of so many students, Georgie was synonymous with _help,_ and that was just how she wanted it. Leo had once said she was working overtime to become “the big butch on campus” and Georgie had loved that so much Jon had made her a bracelet declaring just that.

What’s not always easy, though, is saying no.

Jon used to tell her she was letting people take advantage of her. Spreading herself too thin. He’d been the one to remind her that just because she didn’t see a danger didn’t mean it wasn’t there. It wasn’t that she hadn’t considered the possibility of hurting herself, it was just that her pain had rarely registered as anything more than a dull ache.

“It’s not always easy for me to remember what can hurt me,” she had admitted to him, once.

“Then ask me,” Jon told her. He smiled. “G-d knows I have enough fear for the both of us.”

So she did.

Jon had never judged her for it. Never made her feel like she was in any way asking too much when she needed a reminder on social cues, or emotional responses. Sometimes, he’d laugh at the irony of asking _him,_ someone diagnosed with both autism and ADHD, about a cue, but he never told her no. Never asked her to find someone else. By the time they broke up, she was almost human. The absence of fear had been replaced with a list of things to avoid, and she could pretend that was good enough. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to lose him. Her meeting with the corpse had unbalanced her, but he had held her steady. The break-up had been mutual, a decision based on an understanding of general incompatibility rather than anything else, but Georgie found herself stumbling without him by her side.

Now, though, she watches Jon clean her kitchen and braces for a fall.

Georgie sets a box down on the table.

“What’s this?” Jon asks.

“Cluedo,” Georgie says. She takes out the gameboard. “I was thinking, since you’ve been so good at solving mysteries, you’re probably pretty great at this game now, huh?”

Jon gives her a look of disgust, but sits down in a chair beside her. Georgie laughs and picks up the Admiral who had, until that point, been bathing himself innocently.

“The Admiral’s playing, too,” Georgie tells him. “Family game night.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Jon reminds her.

“Well, it’s not like we’re on a schedule,” Georgie says. Jon laughs.

“You’re not worried I’ll cheat?” he asks.

“You would never cheat at _Cluedo_ with me,” Georgie says sincerely. “Also, I’m not really sure _how_ you’d cheat here? Me telling you my cards doesn’t mean you’re going to somehow intuitively know the right answer.”

“I suppose so,” Jon agrees, watching Georgie set up. “It just feels a bit unfair.”

Georgie hums.

She’s been having dreams about him, lately. Every night, she closes her eyes and finds herself back in Balliol’s Medical Science building, watching him lay on the ground like the woman who doomed her. She doesn’t know how she knows this, but he’s waiting for her, demanding she accept her fate, that she walk forward and become another sleeping beauty pricking her finger on the spinning wheel. There’s a part of her that feels compelled to move, to complete the story despite the pain she knows it will bring her. 

She doesn’t. She can’t. All she can do is watch.

Georgie hasn’t told Jon about it. Either it’s a stress dream, and there’s no need to make him feel guilty about it, or it’s real, and he already knows. If this was something he could stop, she wouldn’t be having those dreams. Georgie knows that much. There was no need to make him feel guilty about something he couldn’t control.

Instead, she asks, “D’you want to be Professor Plum?”

Jon hums.

“I suppose so,” he says. “Us academics have to stick together.”

Georgie deals them both cards, then deals some for the Admiral, who’s already left the room.

“Colonel Mustard doesn’t care too much about solving the murder,” Georgie tells Jon, gesturing to the game piece she’d left for the Admiral. “But he’s still an important part of this investigation.”

Jon nods seriously.

“It’s an honor to serve alongside him,” he declares.

Georgie’s been developing a bad habit, lately, of circling her apartment complex before heading inside. She wouldn’t call it a compulsion, but after the music, and that mannequin breaking and entering to steal her _lightbulbs,_ of all things, Georgie’s keen on avoiding any more encounters with clowns. Considering everything that was going on in her life, she thought this was a normal reaction, and congratulated herself on handling everything so calmly. 

She knows it’s not going to save him. Honestly, there was probably nothing she could do that would really help at this point. Jon was leaving the flat more, looking for information on that ritual he so desperately needed to end. There was no way she could tell him to leave that alone, not when the stakes were so high, but there was no way he was being safe doing that, even if his boss apparently hired someone to watch his back. 

Still. Couldn’t blame a girl for being careful.

When she hears a shout from Jon’s room, Georgie immediately springs into action. It’s a relief to see that he’s alone, but the sweat on his brow and the panic in his eyes suggest that this might be a new development.

“Uh, Jon?” she asks. “Did you call for me? I thought I heard you shouting.”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jon says. He shoots her a guilty smile. “False alarm. Sorry.”

“Sure,” Georgie says. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Jon nods, obviously distracted. “I… Look, I’ve been thinking—”

“Are you sure? You look a bit—”

“I’m fine!” Jon insists.

“No, really, you’re really sweating,” Georgie says. Jon wipes his brow and wrinkles his forehead. 

“Look,” he says. “G—Georgie, I need to move out.”

“Umm… yeah?” Georgie says. Obviously? “I thought you were looking for a place. Y’know, now, now you’ve got a salary again.”

“No,” Jon says. “I—I mean _now.”_

“It’s five in the afternoon,” Georgie reminds him.

“Tomorrow, then,” Jon replies, annoyed. “Look, I—I just don’t like staying here. I feel like I’m putting you in danger.”

“You are,” Georgie says. There was no use lying about it, but there was also no reason to act as though this was some kind of revelation. “A horrible mannequin thing turned up. Had to change my light bulbs.”

“Yeah!” Jon says, waving his hands around in distress. “Yes! That’s precisely my point!”

“I said I’m fine with it.” Georgie shrugs. “At least until you’re properly back on your feet. You’re not doing well. If you leave, I think it’s just going to get worse, and I don’t want that.”

“I appreciate—” Jon begins. He fumbles with his words. “Georgie, you literally can’t feel fear! Are you sure that that’s not—”

“Don’t,” Georgie demands. “Okay? I’m well aware of my situation. It does not make me an idiot. And it doesn’t mean I got a death wish, either.”

It had been years since the accident. She had learned to live with the results.

Jon shakes his head.

“Why are you so insistent on keeping me around?” he asks.

Because he was her friend. Because he was in danger, and she couldn’t let him face all that alone. Because one time, in uni, he had told her he couldn’t imagine ever falling _out_ of love with someone, even if they had grown apart, even if they hadn’t seen each other in twenty, fifty, even one hundred years. Because everything you were happened in an instant, and that meant that everything you felt, you felt forever and once upon a time, Georgie had loved Jonathan Sims.

“Because you’re trying to cut yourself off, and that’s… that’s really bad.” Georgie sighs. “Look, when’s the last time you spoke to someone who wasn’t me?”

Jon pauses.

“That’s—” he says. “I—I—I talked… I talked to Martin a few—a few weeks ago…”

Georgie raises an eyebrow.

“Did you talk to him?” she asks, pointed. “Or did _he_ talk to _you,_ while you tried to find a way to escape?”

Jon doesn’t say anything. It’s all the reply she needs.

“Look, you’re worried,” Georgie says. “I get it. But if you really think you’re turning into something… _inhuman,_ you need people around you. You need anchors.”

Jon gives a bitter laugh.

“All my anchors are just as deep in this as me,” he says.

 _I’m not,_ Georgie wants to argue. Instead, she shrugs and says, “Well, you still need them.”

Jon slumps his shoulders.

“You’re right,” he admits. He mumbles the rest of the sentence, already making plans. Then, raising his voice, he adds, “But I won’t stay here. If something happened to you—or G-d forbid, the Admiral—”

“I get it,” Georgie says. “Just… keep in touch, yeah? Find a way to call me from wherever you go. Don’t be a stranger.”

She’s sure he sees the pun coming, just from the way her posture shifts, but that doesn’t stop the look of horror from appearing on his face as he calls out her name.

“Come on, that was classic Barker!” 

Jon just groans in response. Georgie laughs.

“Let me get you a glass of water,” she tells him, softer. “You really don’t look well, Jon.”

Jon smiles weakly.

“I don’t know how much luck you’ll have with fixing that,” he tells her.

“Yeah, well,” Georgie says. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

Jon leaves the next morning.

Georgie’s got a small bag of clothes for him. He’d been wearing them enough that she considers them more his than her’s now, so he might as well just keep them.

“You just want me to advertise your podcast for you,” Jon accuses. 

“I can have more than one reason to do something,” Georgie protests. “Sometimes, it’s even a good one.”

Jon snorts. Georgie smiles, but can’t make it reach her eyes.

“You can come back and get it later, if you’d like,” she offers.

“I think I might,” Jon says. “Er. Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been so—so—well.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Georgie says. The two of them stare at each other for a moment.

“Do you remember…” she begins, then pauses.

“You can take a picture, if you’d like,” Jon offers. Georgie shakes her head. 

When they’d broken up in uni, she’d been the one to offer to take a picture for him. She knew how his mind worked. How easy it was for him to convince himself that the love he felt was fleeting. Georgie had taken a picture of the two of them because she had thought it was the only way he’d come back to her. If he needed to be convinced the two of them could still be friends, Georgie would carve a message into the sky, but permanence wouldn’t save her now. Any picture she takes now will be something taken under the threat of death, like celebrating a birthday in a hospital bed because you’re sure it’d be your last. 

If Georgie takes out her camera now, she’s sure she’ll never see him again.

“Probably for the best,” Jon says. He grabs his cane and offers the Admiral one last scratch behind the ears before he heads to the door.

“You’ll call?” Georgie asks.

“As soon as I can,” Jon promises.

“Right, well…” Georgie hesitates for a moment, searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing left. “See you around, then.”

Jon smiles at her.

“See you around,” he says.

The door clicks shut behind him.

  
  


In university, back when the world made sense and there was nothing between the two of them but a bridge built on secrets, Jon had made the trip to Liverpool for her town pride. The year after, Georgie would go to Bournemouth for their town pride, where Jon’s grandmother, to Georgie’s delight and surprise, would call her a “nice Jewish girl” and send them on their way. A few days later, they’d meet up with Leo and Alma to go to another event closer to them. But back then, it was just the two of them, sitting in Georgie’s room as her mother puttered about downstairs. 

“Do you want me to do your make-up?” Georgie asked, braiding flowers into his hair. He hadn’t worn anything in the color of any flag, but Georgie wasn’t sure if that was because he’d been worried about the ride up, or if it was just his own desire to keep things simple. “I’m sure I’ve got some eyeshadow around somewhere. Could probably find you something rainbow to add to your hair, too.”

“That’s alright,” Jon said. “I don’t need anything special. All I need is you.”

Georgie laughed, hoping Jon didn’t see how flustered his honestly had made her, and finished the braid. She reached down and laced her hand through his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Well,” Georgie said. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Jon agreed, squeezing back.

  
  
  
  


He doesn’t call.

Three months later, she holds his hand as he lays motionless in his hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bit about the picture is lore from pyrites fic "bits & pieces" which you should absolutely be reading. it's in the same collection as this fic.  
> thank you all for reading

**Author's Note:**

> this was posted because of the jonsimsbipride event! while this first chapter doesn't have too much in the way of bi jon, I headcanon that Georgie and Jon kind of figured out they were bi together, so I thought it'd be a good time to work on a fic about how their relationship has changed throughout the years
> 
> You can find more information on the event at https://jonsimsbipride.carrd.co/  
> and you can find me on tumblr at ofdreamsanddoodles


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